


Day 7

by problematiquefave



Series: Kinktober 2018 [7]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Troy Otto, Coming In Pants, Dom/sub, Kinktober, M/M, Praise Kink, Top Nick Clark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave
Summary: One destroyed dam later, Nick and Troy must come to terms with what happened.





	Day 7

**Author's Note:**

> Originally prompted by an anon who caught onto the messed up D/s vibes of the original fic; finished for Kinktober.
> 
> Comments are appreciated. You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://problematiquefics.tumblr.com/).

It’s just the two of them in a dusty, boarded-up house off the Mexican highway. It’s been just the two of them for days, putting as many miles between them and the dam as possible, allowing the silence to fester. They found this place, tucked away at the end of long-winding dirt road, and decided to stop. They had nowhere else to go, no one else to find, and every Proctor out for their heads. It’s quietness is a silent savior… But it’s also a curse.

It’s a curse because when they realize the Proctors aren’t going to beat down their door, it means they need to deal with what had happened at the dam. What had happened between Madison and Troy – and things that didn’t but almost did.

Nick doesn’t because he’s angry. He’s angry with Troy for slipping back into his old ways and he’s angry at his mom for thinking it was her right to handle Troy – for thinking she was justified in trying to kill him. It’s a small miracle that he caught her wrist before the hammer could connect with Troy’s skull but that does little to soothe the pain.

It’s not fear that prevents Troy from bringing it up – not fear of getting hurt, at least. He knows Nick would never maliciously hurt him. He is, however, afraid of facing Nick’s disappointment. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he fucked up. Because he did; he fucked up big time, didn’t do what Nick told him to, and reverted back to his old ways. His bad ways.

Eventually, though, the tension has to break and Troy, despite his fear, is the one to do so.

“Are you mad at me?”

Nick is smoking on the porch, staring out at the horizon. Troy lingers in the door, looking down at him. Despite the fact he towers over the sitting man, Troy is not the one in a position of power. It’s Nick. It’s his words and his actions which will define this conversation.

“A bit,” he admits, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “You were parroting your father – I told you not to do that.” The younger man takes a drag of his cigarette, smoke tumbling from his lips as he continues to speak. “And you were antagonizing my mother. You were goading her on. She didn’t have any right to touch you but you weren’t behaving either.”

“I just—” The porch creaks beneath his boots as he comes to sit beside Nick. Troy’s eyes never leave his face though Nick continues to stare at the horizon.

“I don’t want an excuse.”

Troy swallows, head inclining with a small nod. “I’m sorry.” There is a sincerity to the apology that's foreign on Troy’s tongue. There are few people that he’s apologized to and meant it – Nick is one of those, and he’s the only one still alive. Troy would die before that changed, before Nick got hurt.

Nick finally looks at him; his brown eyes bore deep into Troy’s expression. If he believed in the soul, he would say that Nick was seeing straight to his. The intensity of that gaze weighs on him like a load of bricks but it’s meant to. It’s making sure that Troy means what he says and, by God, he does. He’s sorry for fucking up. He’s sorry for being the bad guy. He’s sorry for disappointing Nick. Since the ranch fell, since that conversation in the truck, that’s the only thing that’s mattered to him. Being beside Nick, doing what Nick tells him, making Nick happy. He wants that – he _craves_ that.

It’s probably wrong. Probably unhealthy. This codependence that exists on so many levels is something he should balk at. Headstrong and arrogantly proud – those two words once described him to a T and they still do when he’s not with Nick. When they’re together, though, Troy is happy to give up that control and oh-so willing to bow to Nick. It shouldn’t but it works for them, two children of violence who have never known unconditional love, living in a world that’s rules and laws have been brought quaking to their knees.

Nick stubs out his cigarette in the dirt before turning back to Troy. He winds an arm around Troy’s neck, pulling him close. The older man rests his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes. He gently pets Troy’s curls as they rest there. Softly, he whispers, “I know you are. I _know_.”

It’s wrong. They’re wrong. But Troy has never known right and what they have is so much better than anything he’s ever experienced. He _wants_ to please Nick. He _yearns_ for this comfort. He doesn’t want to hard eyes or raised voices. He just wants this – as much as he can get.

He feels a faint tug at his hair and lifts his head away from Nick’s shoulder, looking into those eyes that he could drown in. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left you with my mom. I shouldn’t have told her that Daniel would kill you. You’re not blameless but neither am I. We both messed up some. We both can learn from this.”

Troy licks his lips, giving a firm nod that shows that he’s heard, he’s listened, and he’s taken it to heart. “What should I learn from this?” he asks but Nick shakes his head, a small grin on his lips.

“We can talk about that later,” he answers before leaning in to brush their lips together. Troy reciprocates without hesitation.

Troy has felt a low buzz of interest ever since that night out in the passes when Nick was crouched over him and holding a gun to his head. What can he say? He’s always had a few screws loose. Still, it was never something he gave much thought too. He had resigned himself to celibacy when he was fifteen and coming to the realization that he had zero interest in women. Attraction fades, crushes don’t last. He expected that to be the same with Nick but it refused to go away. The conversation in the truck, the one that started this entire dynamic, hadn’t helped but it was their night at the bazaar that made it a reality. They were high and covered in blood, stumbling into their room and tripping over one another until they were on a bed, limbs entwined, and unsure of where one ended and the other began. It changed everything and nothing at all.

The kiss is firm yet slow, leaving them breathless all the same. When they pull away for air, Nick presses their foreheads together, one hand still laced through Troy’s hair and another around his wrist. He looks into Troy’s eyes, the intensity in his gaze different than before. Lust-fueled fire burns in the hues of his irises.

“Inside,” Nick orders, and Troy is all too eager to comply.

He gets to his feet, casting a longing look down at Nick before entering the building and going back to the bedroom they’d claimed as theirs. He toes off his shoes beside the door before kneeling in front of the bed, facing the entry way. He waits for Nick who is more leisurely in his approach; the younger man appears in the doorway after what feels like an eternity, his cardigan having gone missing somewhere between the porch and the bedroom.

A small smile spreads across his face as he sees Troy. “Good boy,” he coos and though the words are something one would say to a dog, Troy preens. “Take off your clothes but don’t stand.”

It’s slightly awkward but Troy manages it, pulling his shirt off over his head and dropping it on the ground. The pants come next, squirming his way out of them, and they join the shirt. His fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers but Nick holds his hand up. “Leave them on.”

He does, sitting back on his ankles as he looks up at Nick for another direction – or another praise. There’s a laziness to his look, not quite smug, that sets Troy’s nerves aflame. Blue eyes watch his every twitch, focused intently as the younger man pulls his shirt off over his head and lets it fall to the floor. His too-long pant legs scuff against the carpet as he approaches but he can’t tear himself away from his eyes. They hold each other’s gaze as Nick bends to one knee in front of him, still taller, still in control.

“What do you think we should do?” he asks, a hum following his words. Troy doesn’t answer – he’s heard this question before and knows it’s rhetorical. “I kind of want to you to blow me, if I’m honest.”

A shiver runs down his spine. Now that the words are out there, suspended in the air, he kind of wants that too. It’s not because he particularly enjoys blowjobs – come is salty and his gag reflex is a devil in disguise but _God_. He wants to please Nick. He wants to see his face contort and shift with pleasure, to watch his eyes slide shut and his jaw go slack. That’s always what makes it worth it.

Maybe Nick sees that in his gaze, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he nods to himself and rolls back on his heels, pushing himself to his feet with a little spring. “Yeah, I think that’s what we’re going to start with. If you’re good, I’ll return the favor.”

His fingers are at his belt buckle, undoing the metal and leather, unzipping the rusted old zipper and though it’s on the tip of Troy’s tongue to tell him that’s not necessary, he doesn’t. Because his jeans and underwear slide down his legs, revealing his half-hard cock. Doing this, seeing this, was weird at first for him – years of repression and denial adding another problem to the pile – but it’s not anymore. They’ve had time, they’ve gotten used to each other. Troy _knows_ what to do.

He leans forward, his fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. His skin is scalding but that barely registers as he leans forward, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. Nick’s got a good size – not too large or wide to be monstrous but enough that taking him (like this, on his knees, or on his back) makes him feel full.

He looks up through his eyelashes, their gazes meeting again. Nick is silent but, after a second, he reaches forward, carding a hand through Troy’s wavy hair. There’s meaning in that gesture that makes his stomach twist. Looking down, his eyes focus on the patch of wiry hair just above Nick’s cock. He keeps his gaze there as he starts.

His tongue brushes against the underside of Nick’s tip, swiping a line back and forth before moving up and giving a gentle lap to his slit. The hand that had been resting in his hair clenches, tugging at strands. It’s not painful though and Troy continues. He pulls off the head and gives the slit another lick before drawing a line up his cock with saliva. The hand that’s not on Nick’s cock comes to rest on his thigh. Troy is in control of the speed. For now.

Taking the head again, he swallows it further. He’s careful and slow about his movements, mindful of his reflexes. He folds his lips over his teeth and stops when Nick’s weight rests on the back of his tongue. He takes a deep breath through his nose and then takes the last that he can, hitting the back of his throat. His hand covers the rest of his skin. He swallows around the cock, muscles fluttering and tightening. It rips a groan out of Nick’s throat.

“Love you babe but—” he’s panting, frayed restraint evident in his voice “— _move_.”

Troy does. The cock slides back over his tongue until all that’s left is the tip again – then he moves forward. He repeats the action again and again, bobbing his head up and down. Nick’s hand is a heavy weight on his skull but it keeps him calm and focused as he works. At one point, he slips his hand underneath and grabs onto Nick’s balls, giving them a firm but gentle squeeze. The words it earns him are enough to damn both of them for all eternity.

As if they weren’t already.

He notices when Nick’s balls start to tighten, the panting above him growing faster. It sends an electrical thrill through his veins. Troy drops his other hand into his lap, right above where his cock is straining and the confines of his boxers. He doesn’t touch himself though – his focus is solely on Nick in that moment, his movements growing sloppy and spit-filled and he guides the younger man closer to that edge.

He gets only one warning before Nick comes. “Troy… _Now_.” A second later, the salty taste of semen hits his tongue. It’s the closest Troy comes to gagging but he manages to swallow it down. He releases Nick’s cock with a pop, leaning back on his heels again to see his face. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted. It’s just the look he wanted to see.

Brown eyes slide open; his pupils are blown wide and his expression is glazed but Troy can tell the moment he spots his hand in his lap. His lips twitch upward and their eyes meet.

“Go on. I want to watch.”

Troy nods, slipping his hand into his boxers without question. He doesn’t look away as he begins to move his hand along his shaft. This isn’t a part he has as much experience with as other guys but he’s not sixteen anymore and masturbating doesn’t bring about existential crises regarding his sexuality and Nick’s _eyes_ … He focuses on those as the pressure starts to build in his stomach, like a coil being wound taut. Cold heat floods his veins and _fuck fuck fuck_ …

He comes on his hand inside his boxers. Nick snorts but leans forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You did good for me.”


End file.
